


It Starts in Holland

by luluren



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, More will be coming, following them through the war, holland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:14:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluren/pseuds/luluren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started in Holland, and Babe can't find it in himself to stop it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure what I'm doing with this, but there it is. Just an obsession of mine that wanted to come out. Enjoy!

It starts in Holland. A barn in some poor farmer’s field; once Babe had remembered his face, but not anymore. It’s dark, fires burning everywhere but for the moment he feels safe.

The Germans aren’t occupying this stretch of land, not yet anyway, and inside the barn it’s hard not to feel sheltered because there are walls and a roof – never mind the fact they’re flimsy as shit. One good hit and it’s gone, like it’d never been there.

Taking a deep breath, Babe tries to focus on the man in front of him who’s checking the gash on his forearm, and even though he hadn’t felt a thing when it happened, he winces as the Doc pulls a bandage tight around it. 

“Sorry,” Doc says, glancing up at Babe with an apologetic grin. Babe opens his mouth to tell him it’s fine when Doc pulls at the fabric again, startling him.

“Jesus, Doc, really?”

“Gotta be tight, Heffron.” Doc’s reply is simple, as always. Babe’s not sure if he’s heard him say more than half a dozen words strung together in the couple of months Babe’s been with Easy. 

Babe glances down at the white bandage that’s already spotted with blood when a tell-tale whistling starts hurtling their way. There’s time for the two men to catch eyes before everything’s in chaos, half the roof’s caved in and there’s shouting, dust, smoke – for a second it’s all too much. He can’t take it all in. 

But then a hand closes on his shoulder, another on the side of his jacket and that’s all he needs to snap back to reality and start choking on the dust that’s dancing through the air. He tries to speak but all he can manage is a coughing fit, and he finds Doc’s shoulder to be the perfect place to tuck his head down to and try to pull in a breath of air. Shit is still blowing up outside, but for a minute it almost feels like him and Doc are alone in the world.

They’re clinging to each other, praying that another bomb doesn’t go off in their general vicinity and Babe reminds himself for the hundredth time that he volunteered for this. He feels a thrill, thinks its from the bombardment because the adrenalin is always pumping during a fight. But it’s the hot breath on his neck and the clenching fingers that’s causing this rush, and he realizes for the first time since he left home that he’s clutching another human being to him, that this is the closest he’s been to someone else in a very, very long time.

Jesus. 

He wants to admonish himself for thinking of such a thing right now, but he lifts his head and meets Doc’s gaze and goddamn if he doesn’t see something in those eyes. He’s not sure what, but when Doc presses closer, his hands leaving Babe’s jacket to wrap around the warped wood of the barn wall behind Babe’s back, he feels his stomach flutter. 

This isn’t happening. 

Doc’s pressing against him, gasping softly in his ear, and Babe can’t tell if it’s from the chaos of the bombardment, or the confusion that seems to be growing between them. He wishes he could see the Doc’s eyes because it might give him a clue as to what the other man might be thinking, but he’d have to turn his head and there’s no time for that now. He has to go off touch alone.

And touch is saying so much.

They’re flush against each other, and Babe can sort-of-kind-of blame it on the debris that’s still raining down in front of him, but really there’s no excuse for how close they are. For a second he thinks about what it’d look like if someone saw them, and he cringes inwardly, thinking he should push Doc away.

But then Doc moans. For real, honest-to-God moans and suddenly Babe can’t find it in himself to care that Doc’s a man and he’s a man and what they’re doing is a sin. He doesn’t have time for that kind of thinking when he’s got a wiry, lean, dark haired man in his arms who’s pushing against his groin. He can feel the other man’s dick against his and for an inexplicable reason it’s turning him on. It reminds him of Doris, and how her soft breasts used to press against his chest, turning his dick into a rock, but instead of soft flesh it’s another man’s cock and Babe’s got no answer for it. None at all. 

His hands slide down from Doc’s shoulders and rest at the small of his back, pressing the man closer to him, letting Doc thrust against him mindlessly. Babe wants to slide his hands further down, to grasp Doc’s ass but he can’t, he can’t move. Can’t do anything other than gasp softly.

The dust is starting to settle around them, and unbeknownst to either man the bombardment seems to have stopped; silence reigns down and just as Babe starts to realize it, a set of lips latches onto his neck, sucking and biting and that’s all Babe needs to start coming in his own pants, odd, mewling sounds leaving his mouth and Jesus H. Christ how is this happening? 

Babe’s world is white and trembling and he’s vaguely aware that Doc is coming against him and that’s when his hands decide to move without his permission and grasp at Doc’s ass, pushing him closer as the dark haired man whines softly in Babe’s ear. 

Babe’s pretty sure he’s never heard anything so breathtaking in his life. 

They’re both gasping now, bodies still shaking and that’s when the voices from outside the barn start trickling in and Babe realizes they’re getting louder, and he hears his name being called. He thinks it’s Bill and he can only imagine the horror on his face if he’s sees Babe doing whatever the fuck he’s been doing with Doc and without really thinking about it, he pushes Doc away gently. Hands sliding up to grip Doc’s biceps and they’re staring at each other; it’s almost heartening to see the awe and surprise in Doc’s eyes, the round O of his lips. 

This was definitely not meant to happen. It’s the rush, the heat of the moment, and Babe feels a stupid, euphoric grin spreading across his face and Doc’s eyes widen, his fingers wrapped around Babe’s hips. Doc looks like he wants to smile back but instead he whispers one word and it takes Babe’s breath away.

“Heffron.”


	2. Chapter 2

Babe watches Doc now, sometimes without being aware of it. That red arm band catches his eye while they’re lined up waiting for chow, while he’s sitting in another barn waiting for the sun to rise, or even in the middle of a goddamn fight. 

Eventually though those few stolen moments in that barn fade to what seems like a dream, or a fantasy he cooked up during desperate times, though why he’d fantasize about another man is beyond him. He blames it on the war, the stress and he believes it because there can’t be another answer.

It’s October, which reminds Babe of leaves blowing down Front Street and playing touch football in his neighbor’s front yard – none of which comes close to describing where he is right now. Holland is nothing like home. It’s full of Germans and shitty British rations and grateful Dutch citizens Babe can’t do anything for.

And right now, hunched over in a ditch along with the rest of Easy, his rifle clutched tightly in his hands and his eyes straining for the red smoke which means it’s time to fucking go, he feels far, far away from home.

It’s quiet in the pre-dawn, what one might call serene, but the tension is visible among the men up and down the line. Babe glances over at Bill, watches as his eyes flit back and forth across the horizon and he can’t help but admire the assurance that radiates from his friend. It’s calming, and Babe repositions his hands on his rifle.

A quiet murmur goes down the line and he knows that shit’s about to start. He swallows thickly, eyes darting back and forth.

He’s ready.

But then a hand closes on Babe’s shoulder and he flicks his gaze over, catching eyes with Doc and Jesus Christ, where did he come from? His concentration wavers for a second as Doc looks at him beneath his helmet, and Babe opens his mouth to say something but his mind’s blank. And besides, whatever he might say would just sound foolish and awkward.

But Doc takes the lead again, and squeezes Babe’s shoulder, dipping his head down in a slight nod that says a hundred and one things before he moves down the line. Babe wants to watch him leave but instead he turns back to the front and imagines he can still feel those fingers.

\--------------------------------------------------

Afterwards, Babe leans against the wall of yet another barn, trying to catch his breath even though it’s been over an hour since the fighting ended. It was a fucking turkey shoot, taking down all those Krauts. He lights a cigarette, surprised to see his hands aren't shaking because he feels like they should be.

“Heffron?”

Babe looks up, sees Doc coming towards him with a cup clutched in his hand, and he can already smell the coffee. It’s like a walking dream and Babe tries to convince himself it’s because of the hot beverage. 

Doc hands the cup over, watching Babe with careful eyes, and Babe wonders what he’s thinking. Doc’s always got a mask on, like he’s being cautious, and it’s not just Babe that he does it to. After the other night he thinks he might be the only person in the whole goddamn company that’s seen the medic lose control. 

It’s unnerving how much he likes the thought of having a part of Doc all to himself.

“You all right?” Doc asks, his voice low and just a little bit worried and Babe finds himself grinning, wanting to take the edge of concern away.

“’m fine, Doc.” He tips the coffee in Doc’s direction in thanks, then takes a moment to just look. He sees dark eyes, and a mouth that pouts without the owner realizing it, and he’s always so damn serious. “How’re you, Eugene?” 

Doc ignores his question and instead reaches out for the arm he’d bandaged a few days ago. His fingers are warm from the coffee, and Babe immediately thinks back to that other barn and the way those fingers clenched around his hips and Jesus Christ this is not the right time to be thinking of Doc that way.

Babe sucks at his cigarette as Doc examines the healing gash on his forearm, finds comfort in the familiar motion of pulling in smoke, holding it for a second, then letting it out slowly. He concentrates on that instead of the fingers poking at his skin because he has to stop thinking about Doc like that, it’s not normal, not right according to so many people and besides, Doc’s probably regretting the entire thing –

“Healin’ up nicely, Heffron,” Doc says quietly, interrupting the increasingly panicked voice in Babe’s head.

“Yeah?” The word comes out a little breathlessly and Babe feels his cheeks blush.

“Yeah,” Doc responds with a small smile, his fingers pressing into Babe’s forearm and for a second Babe is so damn sure that he sees something in that smile, and wonders what might happen if they’d been alone. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Later that week they’re taken off the front lines, herded into trucks by platoon and by some miracle Babe ends up squished in a corner with Doc tight beside him. 

He doesn't join in any of the quiet conversations going on around him, chooses instead to close his eyes and try not to think about lots of things – the men who were with the platoon at the start of Market Garden and are now conspicuously gone, the bone weary tiredness that’s starting to spread through his body, the fact that for a few days he doesn't have to worry about any Krauts. He’s definitely not thinking about the warm body that’s pressed against his side or the hand that rests for a few minutes on his knee as they bounce around in the back of the truck.

Dark, beautiful eyes meet his and Babe feels his stomach flutter.

The truck keeps driving, the men continue talking, and Babe starts falling.


	3. Chapter 3

Babe’s packing a bag when they tell him. A bag for Paris and 48 glorious hours of leave. He bites his tongue to keep from muttering expletives as Bill leaves to spread the word, and after staring at his neatly packed clothes for a second, he starts unpacking the bag. 

Fucking Krauts, breaking through the fucking line and interrupting what was looking to be a fucking great Christmas…

“Heffron?”

Doc’s standing in front of Babe’s bunk, an amused smile on his lips, and Babe realizes he’s been muttering all that nonsense aloud. He feels a blush start to work it’s way up his neck and drops his gaze to the bed. 

“You all right?” Doc asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He decides to pretend the last minute didn’t actually happen, and hopes that Doc just goes along. “Shitty news, yeah?”

Instead of speaking, Doc’s giving him a look and Babe feels a shiver run across his arms – he hasn’t seen that look since the barn.

Jesus Christ. 

Doc mutters something about wanting a smoke, and Babe follows him, grabbing his jacket off the bed. It’s cold, snow’s blowing in the air, and he hunches down into his collar. Doc’s leading him to the other side of the barracks, where they can huddle near the chimney, out of the wind. 

They stand close, shoulders and arms pressed together, and Babe barely tastes the cigarette, keeps forgetting it’s between his fingers because the warmth of the man next to him is so foreign, so tantalizing. So wrong but still right, all at the same time. He can’t explain it, doesn’t want to delve too deep and pop the bubble they’re in. 

He wants to say something but before he can even figure out what the hell he wants to say, Doc moves to stand in front of him, crowding him against the wall and it’s just like last time, except not really. Because it’s cold, and Doc’s hands are on Babe’s hips instead of the wall, and Babe’s pressing his cold lips against the medic’s neck as they rut against each other in the dark. 

Babe can’t believe it’s happening, again. 

The sound of trucks starting in the distance is loud, but Babe pays no attention to it because Doc’s moved his hands to Babe’s ass and is pulling him closer, grinding their dicks together through their pants. Babe can’t help the breathy sounds that leave his mouth and absorb into Doc’s skin, nor can he help how his hands are clenched on the other man’s shoulders, fingers digging in. 

God, he wants this so badly. Feels like he’s never wanted something so much in his life. 

“Doc,” he whispers, half out of his mind with want and need, “please, Doc.”

Doc shudders in Babe’s arms, and moves his hips faster, harder, his fingers clenching against Babe’s ass. Babe nuzzles his nose into the collar of Doc’s jacket and starts sucking at the skin he finds there. Doc’s been quiet since this started, but now he’s the one moaning, his hips moving slower but harder with every thrust and Babe’s losing it, he’s going to burst-

“Heffron.” 

The word is moaned into Babe’s red hair with a sound Babe’s sure he’s never heard from Doc before – it’s hot, shaking, like Doc’s been trying to hold onto himself but now he’s lost control and together they start coming, their thrusting hips turning erratic, the rhythm they found gone.

Babe comes back to reality when Doc starts pressing his lips against Babe’s temple, small, almost-not-there kisses and Babe wraps his shaking arms around the other man’s waist, pulling him close. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to move.

The air shifts and suddenly Doc’s got his hands on Babe’s neck and he’s pulling away, looking at him with serious eyes instead of the post orgasm stupor that Babe’s sure is in his. 

“Be careful, Heffron.”

The words are simple, but they’re said with such seriousness and concern that Babe feels his stomach clench uncomfortably. He’s not sure how to answer Doc truthfully because really – how can anyone be careful in the middle of the war? 

Instead of answering, Babe presses closer and rests his forehead against Doc’s, leaning down because he’s got a few inches on the dark haired man. They stand together for a few moments, Doc’s hands still on Babe’s neck, and Babe’s hands resting on Doc’s waist and it’s quiet, and calm, and Babe kind of wants this moment to last forever. 

But it can’t. And it won’t. Because the rumbling of trucks is growing louder and Babe knows he needs to get back inside. The world isn’t going to wait around for them to finish whatever the hell it is they’ve started.

“You be careful too, Eugene,” he whispers softly.

\--------------------------------------------------  
Babe’s waiting in line to get into the back of the truck for the long journey to who-the-fuck-knows-where, when he feels something soft being pressed into his hand. He looks down, astonished to see what looks like a green scarf balled up in his hand and when he looks back up, Doc’s staring at him, a tight, sad grin on his lips. 

“Stay warm, Heffron,” he says softly, before turning and getting lost in the swarm of men standing around waiting to go. 

Babe can’t help the smile that’s stretching across his lips, and he explains away the blush on his cheeks with “It’s fucking cold out, whaddya expect,” when Leibgott asks.


	4. Chapter 4

Bastogne is shit. It reminds Babe of a tundra in Alaska, or maybe the North Pole. Not that he’s ever been to either of those places but he can’t imagine it being any snowier or colder than fucking Belgium.

The snow falls, the cold wind blows, and Babe tries to think back to summers in Philly, how hot and sweltering it could get. How he used to strip down to just his underwear and lay on the floor of his bedroom, hoping for a cool breeze to come through. He’d give just about anything to feel that warm again.

When he thinks of Bastogne later, it’s the cold that first comes to mind. But the cold usually morphs into something else, or someone else really. A someone with jet black hair and a soft voice that does strange things to Babe’s insides.

Merry Fucking Christmas, Babe thinks bitterly. Calling the last few days shitty doesn’t do it justice. Shitty not only because of the cold and the snow and the fucking Krauts and goddamn Julian but it’s also the blank look that’s been in Eugene’s eyes for the last day or so. The look that makes Babe feel helpless. 

He wishes he had some chocolate to share.

He’s tucked underneath a blanket, waiting for Eugene to come back. He’s been waiting awhile, but since it’s Eugene’s foxhole he reckons the man’s got to come back eventually. Up until this morning Babe would’ve been second guessing that decision, but now, after a set of lips pressed against the smarting cut on his palm as the sun came up, the apology plain as day in the way those lips moved, Babe’s pretty sure he’s coming back.

Thinking about that moment and the blue cloth still wrapped around his hand makes Babe feel sort of warm all over and he squirms under the blanket. 

Sometimes he starts thinking about what the hell he’s doing, but that’s as far as he gets in that thought process. It’s a war, he reasons, and strange things happen during war. 

Eugene does strange things to Babe.

He’s starting to doze off when a knee knocks into his arm and Eugene slides under the tarp, bringing the cold and snow with him. They’ve shared a foxhole enough times for Babe to automatically lift the blanket and for Eugene to slide underneath, and there’s that flip in Babe’s stomach that happens every time Eugene touches him.

He pulls in a deep breath.

They don’t speak as Eugene attempts to find a comfortable spot, and after a few minutes of rustling around, he relaxes against Babe, the shivers that were shuddering through his body slowly subsiding.

“You ok?” Babe asks quietly.

Eugene slips his helmet off before looking at him with a wry grin. “Yeah, Babe, I’m ok.”

A smile starts at the corner of Babe’s mouth when he hears his name. Took goddamn long enough, he thinks.

“Oh, I got somethin’ for you,” Eugene says, attempting to straighten his leg out in the tight confines of the foxhole. Babe watches with growing curiosity as he pulls out what looks like a bandage, unrolling it slowly, and his breath catches in his throat when one lone cigarette appears.

“How the fuck-“

Eugene grins. “Ran into Santa Claus on my way here.”

“God bless Santa,” Babe says with a sigh, picking up the cigarette and sniffing deeply. It’s been a few days since he’s run out and Jesus, it smells heavenly. “Smoke it now or later?”

“Up to you. It’s yours.” Eugene tips his head back against the wall of the foxhole, looking over at Babe with crinkling eyes and that’s what does it, that’s what sends Babe over the edge. He’s been holding back since they came to this fucking snow covered forest and he’s watched as Eugene retreated into himself and the sadness and the grief and Jesus fucking Christ –

“Babe? You all right?”

He thinks he’s losing it, and it’s all Eugene’s fault. His hand slithers out from under the blanket, his fingers cold and pale and white, and reaches out to touch Eugene’s jaw line, traces a path down his neck and into the collar of his coat. Eugene’s staring at him, his mouth open and his breath coming quickly and Babe feels the warmth spreading across his face. He shivers slightly, and drops his gaze to the other man’s lips, thinking it’s kind of crazy that after everything, they’ve never kissed. 

Flicking his gaze back up to Gene’s, Babe watches as his eyes flutter just the tiniest bit, and that’s what gives Babe all he needs to push forward and press his lips to Gene’s. 

Gene’s lips are rough, dry, just like Babe’s, and once he’s sure Gene isn’t going to pull away, he opens his mouth, deepens the kiss. It’s the most electrifying feeling, doesn’t compare to the kisses he’s shared with anyone else. His thoughts try to go further, to dwell on the why’s of it all, but Gene’s kissing him back just as enthusiastically and nothing else seems to matter.

It’s quiet in their tiny foxhole as they press closer to one another, tongues exploring and hands beginning to move. Babe pulls at the front of Gene’s coat while Gene slides his hands up Babe’s arms, fingers tickling his neck before getting lost in Babe’s hair. 

Babe feels his insides shift in an extremely pleasant way when Gene pulls at his Babe’s hair, tips his head back and suddenly he’s being devoured by this man, his tongue relentless.

“I … Jesus Christ, Gene,” he pants, half delirious, out of his goddamn mind because of this quiet man with his deep voice and dark stubble and beautiful, beautiful eyes. Babe starts pushing at Gene, wanting nothing more than to get him on his back and to crawl on top of him and then, bless him, Gene pushes back, their kissing harsh and demanding and they’re both grappling for dominance.

Babe’s sure he’s losing his mind, little by little. 

The sound of someone talking a few feet from their foxhole stills their kisses, though Babe’s hands stay clenched in Gene’s jacket. Gene’s fingers loosen their hold on Babe’s hair, hands sliding to the soft hairs at the back of Babe’s neck. 

He takes a moment to just look at the other man, those red, swollen lips and the way Eugene’s eyes shine with life and something shifts deep inside him and he shivers.

Babe is so fucked.

\--------------------------------------------------  
Sometime later, wrapped tightly together with Gene’s arm around Babe’s lower back and Babe’s head resting on Gene’s shoulder, they pass the cigarette back and forth, smoking it down to nothing. 

No words are said because words would ruin the moment. Words would bring the real world crashing down around them and for now, all Babe wants is what he’s got.

Beautiful, serious, mysterious Eugene Roe.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s dark out. Still cold, still snowy. But they’re in a building, inside a building for chrissakes, the first time Babe’s sat on something that hasn’t been the ground in so long he’s lost count. The bench underneath him is hard, but it doesn’t matter because there’s no wind, no gently falling snowflakes. Just candle light and shadows and the soft murmurs of the men around him. 

Babe stares down at his hands resting on his lap, his thoughts drifting back to the last few weeks of what can only be described as hell on earth. A very cold hell, filled with Germans and bullets and fences and mortars; trees, more specifically trees blowing up and splinters flying everywhere and the noise of it all. He’ll never be able to describe it. 

It’s also the glimpse of a red armband clad figure dashing around during the shelling, responding to the cries of “medic” the can be heard from all corners of the forest. There’s lots of reasons to shudder at that word, and if Babe can go the rest of his damn life without hearing it, well, that would be pretty swell. 

His attention is drawn away from his lap when someone stands up across the room and heads towards the door of the church. He doesn’t need to look up to know who it is, and decides after a seconds’ hesitation to follow him outside. He could use a smoke anyway.

Walking down the center aisle, Babe keeps his attention on the floor because every time he sees the men of Easy Company together, he can’t help but look for Bill and it’s a punch in the gut when Babe realizes all over again that he’s gone. Not dead thank God, but still gone. 

That was probably one of the worst days. First Bill and Toye, then Muck and Penk, and Buck – it was too much all at once. 

Gene had found him later that night, back resting against a tree and eyes staring at nothing. Babe hadn’t even known he’d been there until Gene stepped up beside him.

“He’s gonna be ok, Babe.” Gene looked over at him, his eyes dark below the rim of his helmet. “He’s goin’ home.”

Babe opened his mouth to say something, but Gene had walked away towards the call of “Doc” in the distance, still wiping blood off his hands. 

The memory is still so sharp and unforgiving and Babe pushes it away as he steps through the doors of the church and out into the night. Gene’s a few yards away, staring up at the sky, cigarette dangling between his fingers and medic bag at his hip. Babe wonders idly if he’s ever seen the man without that bag. Lighting up his own cigarette he steps closer and doesn’t stop until they’re side by side, shoulders and arms touching lightly. 

“It’s a nice night,” Babe says, taking a deep drag and letting it out slowly.

Gene grunts softly, tossing Babe a tight smile. “Looks a lot better when you don’t have to sleep out in it, huh?”

“Hell of an improvement.”

Babe tips his head back and looks at the sky, and he’d swear that one of the stars winks at him. He smiles, thinking back to the evening’s he’d camp out on the roof above his bedroom and smoke stolen cigarettes from his old man. Never had a star wink at him though. Least not till now. 

He wonders what that means.

“Edward.”

It’s not so much the name but how the name is said that pulls his attention away from the sky, his gaze landing on Gene’s heavily lidded eyes that are filled with what Babe can only call need. It takes his breath away to see Gene looking at him like that. It can’t really be compared to anything, not the barn, not France, not Bastogne. 

This is a look all its own. 

“What I tell you about calling me Ed-“ Babe tries to joke because there’s tension, of the sexual kind, and Jesus Christ it’s so thick he can almost taste it. Gene’s looking at him like he’s the last man on earth and it’s almost scary. 

Scary because it’s the most naked and open expression he’s ever seen on the man. Scary that it’s directed at him.

Taking Babe’s elbow, Gene leads them around the side of the church, his steps purposeful and Babe doesn’t even have time to flick his cigarette away before Gene’s pushing him up against the stone wall of the church, behind a statue of some saint Babe’s probably never heard of. 

“Gene-”

It’s a hand pressed against his chest then, pressing him tight against the stones, and Gene’s panting in his ear, his breath hot and damp. Babe drops his cigarette as Gene’s hand slides down the front of his jacket and Babe’s hands come to rest of Gene’s shoulders, his fingers digging in sharply. 

“Edward,” Gene whispers, kissing the side of his neck. His lips slide to Babe’s jaw, pressing in and Babe thinks he’s gonna go crazy from all the sensations. 

“Heffron.” It’s whispered again, and this time Gene’s lips are hovering above his, and that hand that’s been making its way down his chest is now at his waistband and it feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. There’s an odd whimpering sound coming from his mouth and if he was in any way in control of himself, he’d be mortified. 

He’s waiting for the next word, knows he might lose it when he hears it. But the hand that’s pulling at the buttons of his pants is distracting. Not until the second or third time he does it does he realize he’s bucking his hips, urging Gene on, and Gene smiles. 

“Babe.”

A cool hand wraps around his dick and he does lose it, totally and completely. Feels like he’s falling apart around the edges, the only things keeping him together is what’s simultaneously pulling him to pieces. 

Gene’s fingers are pulling at his dick, and Babe finds his hands sliding up Gene’s neck, finding the short hairs at the back of his head. He pulls him closer, deepens the kiss, desperate for more, more, more.

Only a few moments have passed and already Babe feels his balls tightening, knows it’s coming and his breath quickens, their lips still together but their mouths open, breathing each other in. Gene’s hand moves faster, and Babe’s falling, about to go over the edge.

“Venu pour moi, l’amour. Je ai besoin… Je veux…” The French words whisper against Babe’s skin and goddamn but he’s gone, his hips bucking against Gene’s hand and he loses all sense of sanity.

“Fuck, Gene,” Babe whispers, his voice faint, shaking. More words leave his lips, but they’re jumbled, they make no sense and get lost in the cold night around them. 

Gene’s cheeks are flushed as he pulls his hands out of Babe’s pants, his capable fingers buttoning him in and pulling his jacket down. Babe can’t do more than watch because his limbs feel like they belong to someone else.

Gene lights a cigarette with shaking hands and Babe finally thinks about what they’re doing. What he’s doing. It’s not like it’s an affair with a good looking nurse with a soft body and silky hair. It’s a … thing with another man, a man whose hands are magic and whose voice is soothing. Who has hard angles and a sharp jaw covered in stubble that scratches at Babe skin. 

All these thoughts should be appalling, revolting, but with Gene it’s just, well… It’s Eugene. Babe wonders what Eugene’s thinking. He’s so sparse with his words, though his actions more than make up for it.

Babe takes the cigarette that’s offered hoping it will quell the madness going through his mind. Gene’s watching him with serious eyes that eventually soften. 

“Thank you, Babe,” Gene says, his words ringing with a quiet sincerity. “These last few weeks, well. You know.” He’s fumbling with his words, something Babe’s never seen him do. “You pulled me out.”

“Gene, I … we pulled each other out.” Babe can’t take all the responsibility on this, because to him, Gene did so much more.

Moving slowly, Babe leans forward to hand the cigarette back to Gene, their fingers brushing lightly, and they stand hunched together, their free hands held loosely.


	6. Chapter 6

Babe’s not too sure what to think about France, about camping out in an eerily empty house along the Rhine with the Krauts just across the way. Everyone’s tired, running on empty, and even though there’s life everywhere he looks, the place feels empty. 

Really though, when he breaks it down, it’s the best place he’s been in many weeks. 

He gets to sleep in a bed, for chrissake. And take a shower. And eat hot food and chocolate and smoke as many damn cigarettes as he wants.

But still. Things could be better. Malarkey could smile more, Leibgott could tell jokes without sounding bitter. 

And Eugene. 

Babe barely sees him now that they have a real aid station. A glimpse here and there, a quick, tight smile thrown his way and a light brush of shoulders as they pass each other in hallways.

His mind strays back to the last time, wondering if it was a silent good bye, a sorry man, but it’s got to stop gesture, and maybe Babe missed the signs. 

He shouldn’t miss him, he really shouldn’t. He shouldn’t miss the wry smile and the slender fingers or the way Eugene would curl up next to him and they’d sit in snowy silence.

And then he gets picked to go across the river and take a prisoner or two and his worries and thoughts about the medic get pushed away because he’s got to concentrate on not fucking anything up. The end feels like it’s near. Never a better time to be careful. 

Babe misses most of it though when the boat he’s in capsizes and he ends up back in the basement, wrapped in a towel, shivering with cold and anxiety because he’s supposed to be over there. After a few minutes a grenade goes off across the river, the noise echoing down to the basement and he flinches. 

He’s picking at his fingernails, one leg shaking in nervous anticipation when the door flies open and it’s fucking chaos. 

Shouting and screaming and too many bodies in one space, all trying to do something, anything. Jackson’s lying on the table, his blood spreading across the distorted wooden table and he’s crying for his mother. Someone’s yelling for a medic, and someone else is going after the Kraut prisoners and Babe’s not sure what to do except reach out and put a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, trying to hold him down.

“Lemme through, lemme though.”

It’s nuts how quiet the room grows when Eugene appears, tugging his helmet off and raking his gaze over Jackson. They watch silently as Eugene peers into Jackson’s eyes, the flame from his lighter throwing shadows across their faces, and then they’re moving him, there’s soothing words of “It’s all right, Jackson. You’re gonna be ok,” in the quiet. 

But chaos reigns again as the boy starts seizing on the stretcher and Eugene’s voice grows louder as he says Jackson’s name and then …

Eugene sits back on his haunches, and his eyes immediately find Babe’s. Jackson’s gone, just like so many others. 

Afterwards, once the body is taken away and the blood spotted table is covered with a tarp, Babe has time to really think about it, how fucking unfair it all is and he’s angry. He lights a cigarette, his hands shaking. The room is still full of men sitting around in silence and it’s suffocating.

Standing abruptly, Babe throws his damp jacket on and leaves the basement, not sure where he’s going. He stands at the door to the street, his cigarette dangling between his fingers, and takes a deep breath, one after another. The cold air clears his head some, just enough to keep from punching the wall. 

Fuck. Fuck it all. 

His feet are moving before he can really think about it, and he finds himself in front of the aid station, not knowing where else to go. Opening the door, Babe steps inside and stops when he sees a familiar figure bent over a table, hands splayed against the wood propping him up. He’s taking deep breaths, like there isn’t enough air in the room, and Babe swallows and steps closer as Gene turns around.

His eyes are sort of wet and he’s shaking, but Gene never thinks about himself, and when he speaks it to ask if Babe’s ok.

The anger is still there and it comes bubbling up and turns into something that’s not quite madness, though it’s pretty fucking close. He’s moving towards Gene and the next moment Babe’s got him in his arms and he’s pushing Gene back against the table.

Gene lets out a small groan as their lips meet and unlike any of the previous kisses, this one has an edge of desperation to it. Gene’s clutching at Babe’s coat and Babe’s trying to get closer because he wants this man so fucking much it hurts.

But then Gene’s pushing him away, dodging Babe’s searching lips and he whispers, “Not here, we can’t…” 

Babe let’s Gene drag him towards the back of the house and into a room that has nothing but moonlight streaming through a window and a desk against the wall. The doors are barely closed before Babe’s patience breaks. Taking Gene’s arm, he pushes him against the desk and presses close, making that whimpering sound in his throat when he feels Gene’s half-hard cock pressing against his. He’s so lean, so hard, nothing but muscles and skin and too many damn layers of clothes.

Hips are still grinding as fingers unbutton jackets and shirts and pants and Babe can’t get beyond the fact that Gene might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen as he slides his hands up under Gene’s t-shirt, feeling smooth skin. It’s the eyes, hooded with arousal and pupils blown wide. It’s the hands that are pulling at his pants and the lips that are attacking his mouth. It’s all this and so, so much more.

Babe groans loudly as their bare cocks brush against each other. “Oh god, Gene,” he whispers. He pushes Gene back further and they’re grinding soft skin together and Babe’s sure he’s never been so turned on in his life. 

The desk creaks softly as Babe settles between Gene’s legs. Slithering his hand down, he wraps his fingers around both of their dicks and starts pulling. He’s no clue if he’s doing it right, if there even is a right way, but it feels amazing. Judging by the sounds coming from Gene and the way he deepens the kiss, wrapping his hand around the back of Babe’s neck, he’s pretty sure Gene agrees. 

Babe breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Gene’s, staring straight into his eyes as they do whatever the fuck it is they’re doing and the pleasure is so immense, so all consuming as Gene slides a hand down to the small of Babe’s back, pressing him closer. 

“Babe, se il vous plait, l’amour,” Gene pants, pushing against Babe’s cock and then they’re both coming in great heaving gasps. The world’s gone to static and Babe bites back a cry, his head falling to Gene’s shoulder, while Gene leans against him, temple to temple, black hair mixing with red. 

Several moments go by before Babe finds the strength to push himself away and the two men stare at one another, still breathing heavily and there’s this thing that seems to be growing in Babe’s chest and working it’s way through the rest of his body and it’s scary and brilliant. 

He’s not quite sure what to say, not sure if he can even get a passable sentence out, and instead he leans in and runs his hands down Gene’s sides, rests them on Gene’s waist and sighs. 

“Fuck, Gene,” Babe whispers, his voice shaking with whatever it is that’s making its way through his insides. He watches as the smile on Gene’s face disappears and while he expects to see wariness or maybe disgust in his features, he’s sees neither. 

What the fuck is happening? How is it that Eugene has become so important to him? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to go to war and pine after Doris and think about the pretty nurses and what he’d like to do to them, but all he wants is what’s in front of him, staring with dark eyes and a classic Gene Roe smile, looking at him like he’s something special and Babe doesn't know what to do – he’s not sure if anyone’s ever looked at him like that before. 

Later, after they've covered and buttoned up and Gene’s reaching for the door, Babe puts a hand on his arm to stop him. 

“Get some sleep, ok?” he says after a moment’s hesitation, because he’s really just stalling for time.

Gene smiles and tugs his helmet down so it’s hovers just above his eyebrows. “I will if you will, Babe.”

“It’s a deal then.” He squeezes Gene’s arm lightly, smiling like an idiot.

They part a few minutes later, and Babe swears he can still feel those fingers pressing against the small of his back as he hurries through the dark streets, eager for his warm bunk and much needed sleep. 

He’s not quite sure what this thing is between them, but for now, he just wants to keep doing it because now he can’t imagine getting through the rest of this without Gene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sincerely blown away by your comments and kudos. Thank you so much! - Lu


	7. Chapter 7

Babe gets a letter from Guarnere one day – Wild Bill, who’s recovering in a hospital in England, and Babe feels a pang go through him when he thinks back to that bloody, awful day in the woods when Bill left him.

Babe tears the envelope open as he heads towards the house they’ve occupied for the night, his eyes eagerly taking in the word’s Bill’s written. He’d swear he could almost hear Bill’s voice.

The letter is short, to the point. He doesn’t mention the loss of his leg other than to mention he’s been hobbling around on crutches for a few days. Says he misses the men, hopes everyone is doing ok.

It’s the paragraph at the end of the letter before the scrawled signature that makes Babe stop in his tracks, completely ignoring the fact that he’s standing in the middle of a cobblestone street.

_Tell Doc Roe I said hi. And this next message is for both of you – be careful. I got eyes in my head, Babe. And I use ‘em._

It feels like the breath’s been knocked out of his chest.

Fuck.

He’s not sure what to do, or where to go. He’s afraid to look at anyone for fear they’ll see it written all over his face and Jesus Christ he thought they’d been careful. But it’s Bill, and he’s right – he sees everything.

Babe’s face feels hot and he’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or the nervous energy he doesn’t know what to do with. He ducks down an alleyway and leans against the brick wall, attempts to light a cigarette with shaking fingers. It takes several tries but he eventually gets it lit and that first drag seems to soar through his blood, calming him down enough that he can think in actual sentences.

Bill knows. How much he knows Babe has no idea, but he’s obviously seen enough to make an assumption and to send a warning, and this should mean that Babe ought to end it, put a stop to what it is he and Gene are doing but fuck, he can’t-

“Babe?”

The voice startles him, and he jumps away from the wall, shoving the letter in his pocket before turning around to look at Webster. “Hey, Web.” His voice is shaking and he clears his throat, throws Web what he hopes it is an easy smile. 

“You all right?” Webster’s eyes drop down to Babe’s shaking hands and he takes a few steps closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just … letter from home, y’know?” Taking a drag of his cigarette, Babe sidesteps Webster and stops when he gets to the sidewalk. He tilts his head up to the sky, letting the sun warm his pale face. 

“Bad news?”

“Nah, just …”

“Not another Dear Babe letter,” Webster replies, playfully jabbing his elbow into Babe’s side, both of them chuckling over the memory of that bar in England and the sound of Bill’s laughter. 

“Nothing like that. Don’t worry.” Flicking his cigarette away, he nods towards the front door of the house. “Chow time, isn’t it?”

Babe’s never been good at being subtle, but good old Webster pretends like it’s completely normal and after clapping Babe’s shoulder, leads the way inside. 

\--------------------------------------------------  


It’s after midnight and the house is relatively quiet. The only noise in Babe’s room is Luz’s steady breathing from the bed across the way, and the slight ruffling of the curtains against the open window. It’s quiet, peaceful, but Babe can’t sleep. He’s thinking about Bill’s letter and Gene’s smile and a hundred other things, and he doesn't need a crystal ball to know he’s not getting any sleep tonight. 

He’s still dressed, sitting upright on his bed when a flash of movement outside the window catches his eye. Standing to peer out, he sees Spina walking towards the aid station down the street, a yawn almost cracking his head in two. 

He watches him idly, wonders if there’s even anything for him to do there considering they haven’t been in any actual combat for a few weeks.

But then he remembers who Spina’s rooming with, and he stands up so fast he smacks his head against the window sill and groans. “Fuck,” he whispers, rubbing the top of his head and glaring at the offending piece of wood like it’s at fault. 

Still rubbing his head, he glances over to Luz to make sure the man’s asleep before leaving the room and heading down the hallway to where he knows Gene’s staying. He’s not quite sure what he’s planning on doing, if he’s going to tell Gene, or if he just wants to see him, and he stares at the closed door for a second before slowly turning the doorknob. 

Gene’s back is towards him, and Babe watches as he leans down and splashes water across his face from a bowl on the night stand. Gene’s jacket is off, and the muscles under his shirt ripple as he stands and turns around. 

“Babe. You ok?” Gene asks, wiping his hands off on a towel before letting it drop.

Babe steps into the room and softly closes the door. “D’you think there’ll ever be a day where you don’t think something’s wrong all the time?”

A smirk stretches across Gene’s lips and he laughs dryly. “We’re still in Europe, ain't we?”

Gene watches with careful eyes as Babe takes a seat on the bed and within seconds Babe’s leg starts jiggling. Gene doesn't miss it of course, but instead of asking he sits down next to Babe, their legs and arms just touching. 

“What’s the name of this town?” Gene asks. “I been trying to remember ‘em all but they’re starting to sound the same.”

“Starts with a S, I think. Ask Web tomorrow, the bastard knows everything.” Stretching his jiggling leg out, Babe pulls a battered pack of smokes from his pocket, lights two and hands one over to Gene. “German’s a funny language.”

“It’s a harsh language,” Gene corrects. 

“We've heard a lot of them over the past couple of months, haven’t we?” His eyes slide over to Gene and he smiles. “I think French is my favorite.”

The glow from the gas lamp on the night stand reveals a blush creeping up Gene’s face and he ducks his head. “Why’s that?”

“It’s smooth. Silky, I guess.” Babe’s words are whispered into the room and he takes a drag from his cigarette to keep from touching Gene. 

It’s the first time they've ever alluded to what’s going on between them, and the air fills with tension, but not a bad kind. All Babe wants is to reach over and touch Gene but words spill out of his mouth instead.

“I gotta letter from Bill today, and he … he said to tell you hi.”

“Oh.” If Gene seems surprised at the change of subject, he doesn't show it. “Tell him I said hi when you write him.”

“Yeah, yeah I will.” Babe’s leg starts jiggling again and he takes another drag. “He said something else too. It’s … well, for both of us to be careful. Because he’s got eyes and he uses them.” The last words are rushed, tumbling out and Babe stares straight ahead, not able to look at Gene. He’s afraid to see what will be in those dark eyes, afraid of rejection because someone else knows their secret. 

Gene’s always been a surprise to Babe, since the very beginning, and this time is no different. He’s silent for a long while, but then Babe watches as Gene stands up and goes to the door. He keeps his eyes on the floor before slowly reaching out and turning the lock, the click of metal against metal loud in the silent room. 

“I don’t know about you, but I think we should take his advice,” Gene says, walking back towards Babe and stopping just in front of him. His hand reaches out to run through Babe’s red hair and he shivers at the touch. “Gotta be careful.”

The hand in his hair slides down to his cheek and Babe turns his head, plants a soft kiss against the weathered palm. He’s so grateful, so fucking happy that Gene isn't telling him to leave – he didn't realize how worried he was that it might happen until the moment came when it didn't. 

But now Gene’s pushing him back onto the bed and climbing on top of him, their lips searching until they meet and, fuck, Babe thought it was overwhelming standing against a wall and feeling that long, lean body against his, but it’s another thing entirely to be lying down and feeling the full weight of him. 

Shoes and Babe’s jacket and both their shirts are tossed to the floor and Babe shudders as Gene sits astride his hips, shadows flickering across his pale chest. Leaning up, Babe wraps his arms around Gene’s waist and pulls him in for a kiss. He can’t get over how soft Gene’s skin is, or how wide his eyes are as Babe drags his fingers across the smooth expanse of his back. 

Gently, Gene pushes Babe back and slithers his hips down, nudging at Babe’s legs with his knee until he opens them without question, without thought, because he really really _really_ wants to feel Gene pushing against him. Doesn't matter that it’s such a feminine thing, opening one’s legs, and besides, when Gene settles in between them and starts rubbing his crotch against Babe’s, nothing else matters. 

They’re kissing deeply and Gene’s got his hands fisted into Babe’s hair as he grinds against him, their cocks rubbing together through their pants, and Babe’s lifting his hips, meeting each thrust and Jesus fucking Christ he’s never felt anything like this before. 

It’s downright beautiful. 

Babe slides his hands down Gene’s back and presses his fingers against his ass, urging him to go faster. But Gene has other plans, and a groan escapes from Babe’s lips as Gene pulls back, but then there are fingers working at the buttons of his pants and he scrambles to return the favor. Their hands are tangled and Babe’s fingers fumble against the buttons but eventually their pants are open and it’s cock sliding against cock and that’s right about the time Babe loses himself.

He can’t imagine anything else feeling better than this, this closeness between the two of them. They’re frantically rutting against one another, and Babe’s fingers are squeezing Gene’s bare ass in time with his thrusts. He’s doing ok, building slowly, but then French words are whispered into his ear and he’s coming undone. It’s coming fast and he has to bite down on Gene’s shoulder to keep from crying out.

Gene’s moving with him, panting harshly in his ear as he whispers things like, _“Vous êtes belle,”_ and _“Je ne peux pas arrêter cela, je ne veux pas.”_

Babe’s sure he’s never come harder in his life, and afterwards, while Gene’s laying heavily on him and Babe’s hands are limp against Gene’s back, Babe feels sated, so content. Those little words written on that letter in Babe’s pocket are forgotten and it’s just the two of them. 

“I should get back,” Babe whispers after long moments in silence. Gene raises his head, hair mussed and his eyes lazy and there’s a lurch in Babe’s stomach, a very pleasant thing that makes him want to lean in for a kiss. 

“Stay here for a little longer,” Gene says, rolling carefully off Babe. “Spina won’t be back for a few hours. We got time.”

Reaching across to the nightstand, Babe grabs the towel and carefully wipes his stomach clean before turning and doing the same to Gene. His movements are slow and gentle, and he finds his eyes straying to the opening in Gene’s pants, feeling a longing that shakes him to his core. 

Babe moves his gaze up to where Gene is staring at him, his hair dark against the white pillow and it’s such a tender moment, something’s Babe not used to and he doesn’t know what to do other than drop the towel on the floor and lie down beside Gene. Fingers slide down to wrap against his own, and heads tilt so that they’re leaning against each other and Babe starts to wonder about the man he’s lying next to. 

Up till now, they’re interactions had been physical, but something shifted tonight. 

Something big.

\--------------------------------------------------  


The next morning they’re leaving the picture postcard German village, heading further east. Gene’s standing a few feet in front of Babe as they line up to get into the trucks, and Babe steps closer, tugging at Gene’s jacket. 

“Nurtingen.”

Gene turns, a puzzled expression on his face. “What?”

“Nurtingen. The town we’re leaving,” Babe explains, smiling. 

A look passes between the two of them and Babe laughs, bumping into Gene’s shoulder lightly. Gene hums in appreciation, and repeats the word, staring at Babe like he’s trying to commit this moment to memory. 

“Starts with an s, huh?” Gene says, his voice teasing.

“Ah shut it, Eugene,” Babe says good naturedly, smirking at him as they sit across from each other in the crowded truck and make their way deeper in to Germany.


	8. Chapter 8

Babe wouldn't go all out and say he’s drunk. But he wouldn't say he’s sober either. Thanks to Leibgott’s special sense of where alcohol might be hidden, Babe’s been sipping from a bottle of wine for the last hour. They've been sitting around the kitchen table, half a dozen of them, all in some varying form of drunkenness, talking about anything and everything under the sun except what happened two days ago. 

There’s not enough alcohol in the world to forget. 

Deciding he could use a bit of fresh air, Babe stands and he’s surprised when he loses his balance for a second, not expecting the rush of lightheadedness. He glances down at the half empty bottle in his hand, not realizing how much he’d drank. 

“’m goin’ for a smoke,” Babe mutters to no one in particular and as he makes his way down the center hallway of the house, he hears Luz shout, “You gonna make it, Babe?”

For a second he’s not sure if he will, but the door’s pretty damn close now. Deciding not to respond, he flicks a finger behind him, and leaves the house amidst loud laughter. 

It’s not the most graceful exit as he’s ever had, and as he straightens up after tripping across the threshold, chuckling only like a man half pissed can, he sees a figure leaning up against the porch railing and he freezes. 

“Gene?”

Gene’s gaze drifts down to the bottle in Babe’s hand before moving back up, and he gives Babe half a smile. “Willing to share that?”

Grinning, Babe passes the bottle over and watches as Gene tips it back, the muscles in his throat working and Babe’s mouth goes dry because all he can think of is leaning close and putting his lips against that skin.

Gene hands the bottle back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, all the while staring at Babe and he’d swear he sees something resembling want in those dark eyes. 

Babe’s buzzed enough to take a step forward, wanting to be closer. There’s been no time for the two of them to do more than stare at each other and God he just misses the man. It’s frightening really, and it’s a fucking shame that he can’t reach out and pull Gene to him and press their foreheads together. 

“C’mon,” Gene says, nodding towards the far side of the porch where a few chairs are placed in a circle around the railing. Babe follows on unsteady legs and sinks down on a chair, watching as Gene pulls his own chair closer and takes a seat. 

Babe’s immediate world has shrunken down to this moment, this bottle of wine and this chair, and this man who’s come to mean more to him that he’d ever expected. It’s fucking nuts, and as Babe takes another swig from the bottle, he looks over at Eugene and notices the tiredness and the grief etched in the lines of his mouth . 

“How long were you in there?” Babe asks impulsively, knowing he doesn't really want to bring the subject up but it’s coming up anyway. 

The answer is quiet, Gene’s lips barely moving. “Till we moved out the next morning.”

The thought of Gene being there all night gives Babe a sick feeling in his stomach because he could barely stand it for the few hours he was there. All of those emaciated bodies and the smell. Christ.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How’d you do it? Stay there all night?”

Gene lights a cigarette and takes a drag, the smoke curling out of his mouth and Babe’s mesmerized by it, watching as it drifts up towards the ceiling.

“I had to. They needed all the help they could get.” Gene’s voice is soft but there’s an undercurrent of something tight and tense running underneath and Babe wonders if the infamous Gene Roe temper is going to surface. “It’s fucked up, Babe. The thought that humans can treat their own that way. It’s…”

“Fucked up,” Babe whispers.

“They were skin and bones. Nothing to ‘em. And … every time I’d reach out for one of ‘em they’d shy away, like a dog would, y’know?” He reaches for the bottle again and Babe hands it over, knowing that even though nothing really helps, at least the alcohol numbs it. “Can’t really imagine what they went through, even after seein’ it.”

“I don’t think anyone can.” 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, bottle of wine and cigarette passed back and forth between the two of them. Babe’s not sure what to say because all he wants is to reach over and touch Gene, put his hands on the man and comfort him with actions instead of words that won’t come, but he doesn’t understand, really can’t imagine a world in which shit like what they saw happens and no one did a damn thing about it. He can’t imagine it even though he’s living in it. 

“Fuck.” 

The word comes out as a sigh, and Babe tips his head against the back of the chair, staring up at the porch roof. It only takes a few seconds for him to realize Gene’s looking in his direction, and then he turns and Gene’s eyes are wide and a little bit haunted.

He wants to say something like _“It’s gonna be ok,”_ but when he opens his mouth it’s to say words he’s only ever thought but never said aloud.

“I want you, Gene.”

The words come out breathlessly, needy, and if Babe wasn't sort-of-kind-of drunk he’d be beyond embarrassed. Instead it feels amazing to get it out there, to watch Gene’s eyes widen and the most inexplicable expression flit across his face. Gene’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something but the front door is flung wide open and they’re joined by Webster, Leibgott and Perconte, all three quite smashed.

Web and Leibgott start bantering and Perconte’s leaning against the railing, smiling at the two men in front of him but his eyes are glazed and it’s obvious he’s not really listening. Gene lights another cigarette and leans back into his chair, his eyes catching with Babe’s.

Jesus Christ, what he’d give for five minutes alone with Gene. 

Eventually Babe finishes the bottle of wine, smokes a few more cigarettes, and decides he’s drunk enough to go to bed. Standing on shaky legs, he waves a hand to the men, meeting Gene’s eyes and giving him what he hopes is a smile because he can’t really tell exactly what his numb lips are doing. As he makes his way across the porch he feels Gene’s gaze on his back. 

Somehow, after a few missed steps and a wall or two that gets in his way, Babe opens the door to the room he’s sharing with Webster, strips down clumsily to his t-shirt and shorts and sits down on the edge of the bed.

He’s gonna have the mother of all hangovers in the morning. 

Babe lays down on his back, pulling the covers up under his arms. Closing his eyes, he drifts away in a drunken haze, thinking about dark hair and slender fingers and crooked smiles.

\--------------------------------------------------

He’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. 

Dreaming about hands running down his chest and up under his shirt, lips that are carefully suckling at his neck. The warm breath on his skin and the thick hair tickling his cheek. It feels so good, too good actually, and he moans softly.

“Shh.” The words are whispered against his skin and he knows that voice, the lilt and the tremor and Babe opens his eyes. It takes just a second for him to realize he’s not dreaming, and that Eugene is kneeling on the bed beside him, touching him like he’s something precious.

“Gene,” Babe whispers, reaching out to run his fingers in that hair he loves to touch, but Gene waves his hand away and presses kisses along the curve of Babe’s neck, his hand drifting further down Babe’s body until they’re at the waist band of Babe’s shorts. Babe tenses as Gene’s fingers slide his shorts down, revealing his painfully hard cock and when Gene wraps his hand around it, Babe whimpers, his hips thrusting forward – he almost can’t take the pleasure. 

Babe’s too entranced with the fingers that are pulling at his dick to notice that Gene’s lips have continued to make their way down his body, but he does notice when those lips dip below his bellybutton. His sensitive skin is bathed in the warmth of Gene’s breath and he can’t believe it, can’t believe that Gene’s going to –

Warm lips wrap around the head of his cock and Babe cries out, knowing he has to be quiet and failing quite spectacularly. Gene brings his free hand up and covers Babe’s mouth as he slides his lips down Babe’s cock hesitantly, as though he’s not sure he’s doing it right. 

If Babe’s mouth wasn't covered he’d assure Gene he’s doing brilliantly, but he can’t speak, can only push up with his hips, silently conveying his pleasure. Babe digs his fingers into the bed, grabbing handfuls of the sheet and breathing fast, knowing he’s going to come and he’s going to come hard because Gene’s mouth is so warm, and his tongue is doing amazing things to Babe’s dick. The hand that’s covering his mouth loosens, and Babe moves his head, takes in Gene’s thumbs and starts lightly sucking it, running his tongue across the calloused pad.

Removing his mouth off Babe’s cock long enough to speak, Gene whispers in a voice that shakes, “Jesus Babe,” and now Gene’s got his other hand down his own pants, and he’s whimpering. Babe unlooses his hand from the death grip he’s got in the sheets and places it on the back of Gene’s head, gripping that black hair as he pushes his cock deeper into Gene’s mouth. 

Babe knows it’s coming, he’s gonna burst any second. He bites down gently on the thumb in his mouth at the same time that Gene gives a hard suck and suddenly he’s coming, pumping his hips frantically and Jesus H. Christ he comes so hard he’s seeing stars. Gene takes it all, doesn't even try to remove his mouth and Babe feels the vibrations of Gene’s whimpers as he comes just after Babe, his hips moving erratically against Babe’s side and it’s possibly the sexiest thing in the entire world. 

He just can’t. Can’t take it all in, all these feelings and emotions and for a second Babe wonders if this might be what love feels like, an insane kind of love that makes no sense and has no happy ending as far as Babe can see but he doesn't care, not right now. 

The room is silent as Gene covers Babe back up, and stands, his hands trembling and his hair a mess thanks to Babe’s fingers. Babe’s still sort of hazy, drunk not only from the wine but from the greatest orgasm he’s ever experienced, and Gene leans down and kisses him softly.

He can taste himself in Gene’s mouth and it should be disgusting but instead it’s kind of hot, and Babe deepens the kiss, runs his tongue along Gene’s and shivers as the taste intensifies. He wants to pull the man down on top of him, and fall asleep just like they are, but instead Gene pulls back and gives Babe a crooked smile. 

_“Doux rêves, l’amour,”_ Gene whispers, and just as quickly as he arrives, he’s gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Babe breathless and wondering what exactly Gene had just said to him. 

He’s not sure if he can put into words the feelings running through his body, the tightness in his chest that grows tighter with every second that passes, and he can’t help but ponder over what it all means. 

Babe’s drifting off to sleep again when he hears the door open and Webster stumbles in, murmuring angrily about something Leibgott must have said. 

Turning onto his side, Babe buries his head in his pillow and smiles against the fabric. 


	9. Chapter 9

“Lemme see your hand.”

“It’s fine.”

“Give me your hand.”

“Goddammit Gene, it’s fine.”

“I ain’t askin’ again.”

“Good. ‘Cause I ain’t givin’ it to you.”

They’re alone for once, together in an empty house that some Nazi officer used to live in. When Babe heard they were headed to Berchtesgaden he’d been excited, because really, it’s not every day you get to take over Hitler’s house, but now that he’s here, he doesn’t like it. Too much Nazi shit everywhere.

“Why’d you punch it?” Gene asks, sliding up behind Babe, his chin resting on Babe’s shoulder.

Babe shrugs. “Dunno. Just felt like it.” The glass case in front of him is smashed, the Nazi paraphernalia littered on the floor around him. He stamps down softly on a picture lying on the floor of a man in full uniform with what Babe is sure is a smug smile on his face and grinds his heel down harder.

Gene slides an arm around Babe’s front, and Babe momentarily forgets about his smarting hand and leans back against Gene’s chest, feeling tired. The stubble from Gene’s chin tickles Babe’s neck and Babe turns, searching for those lips he’s kind of obsessed with. He can see Gene smirking and as Babe turns to wrap his arms around his waist because fuck, he wants this man so much, Gene slides his hand down Babe’s arm and captures his bleeding hand.

“Gotcha,” Gene says, pulling back with a grin, his fingers tight.

“Jesus Christ,” Babe says, rolling his eyes as Gene starts inspecting the minute cuts across his knuckles. “I’m fucking fine, Gene.”

“You’re bleedin’. Which means you’re not fine. Now shut up and let me fix it.”

What he really wants to do is pull his hand away and push Gene up against the wall but he knows the man too well. He’ll fight back until Babe’s hand is bandaged up all nice and proper. So he decides to cooperate, and watches as Gene wipes the blood away, sliding his thumb gently across Babe’s skin.

Gene’s always intense when it comes to his job, and even though this isn’t a life-threatening injury, his lips are pursed and he’s staring intently and Babe gets this flutter in his stomach that starts traveling up his chest. Impulsively he leans in and presses his lips against Gene’s. He meant for it to just be a peck, a slip, but Gene opens his mouth and now their tongues are sliding together and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

Babe’s hand is forgotten as they press closer to each other, hands sliding to cheeks and backs and faces. After a moment Babe breaks the kiss, gulping back deep breaths as Gene trails kisses down his jaw, his hips moving in small circles.

“Fuck, Gene,” Babe whispers. He slides his hands lower, actually cups Gene’s ass and pulls him up so Gene’s standing on his toes.

Babe might actually die of pleasure if this keeps going.

 _“Je te veux aussi,”_ Gene whispers, and now Babe’s breath comes faster and the tingling in his nether regions is spreading outward at an alarming rate.

“It’s not fair, y’know,” Babe says breathlessly.

“What’s not fair?” Gene’s voice has dropped several octaves and Christ if that doesn’t make Babe lose his train of thought for a second. 

“You could be saying anything.” 

Chuckling softly, Gene wraps his arms around Babe’s neck, fingers sliding into his hair. “I could.”

Voices echo up the stairs and reluctantly they pull apart. While Babe attempts to get rid of the tent in his pants, Gene pulls a bandage from his bag before taking Babe’s hand in his.

“I said I wanted you too.”

Even though Babe’s said those words to the man who’s just spoken them, to hear them come from Gene is just … for a second there’s not enough air in the room. 

Someone’s coming up the stairs and they’re still staring at each other. Babe has to physically keep himself from kissing Gene, so instead he smiles, biting his lip as his cheeks flush. He nudges Gene’s shoulder softly.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he says, watching as Gene smiles shyly before turning his attention once again to Babe’s hand. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Tonight, they get to pick their own rooms because Martin is too drunk to do it himself. Babe catches Gene’s eye before heading up the stairs, Gene following a few steps behind. The guys are talking over each other, fighting over who’s rooming with who, and Babe stops at a door on the second floor. 

“Want to share?” Gene asks, his voice hiding the amusement Babe can see in his dark eyes. 

Babe opens the door and gestures for Gene to go in. “Sure thing, Doc.”

It isn’t until later, after they’ve gone back downstairs to eat and drink some beer and came back up to shower, when Babe’s sitting on his bed in shorts and a tshirt, watching as Gene comes out of the bathroom with wet hair, that he really thinks about the fact he’s sharing a room with Eugene. 

It’s like going back to Bastogne, back to a foxhole except this time it’s not freezing and they’ve got a bed and clean sheets instead of dirt and thin sleeping bags. It’s so different from the woods, but at the same time it’s still the same. 

Babe wishes he could put into words what he’s thinking, but when Gene comes to him and nudges at him to move, he wonders if maybe he doesn’t have to say anything because Gene always knows. 

They sit side by side on the bed for a moment before Gene takes Babe’s shoulder and pushes him back. The room is silent while they maneuver themselves under the covers, not stopping until Gene’s spooning Babe and Babe shivers when the other man’s cold toes curl against the bottom of his feet.

“Jesus, Gene, your toes are like ice.” 

He laughs in Babe’s ear, and presses his feet closer. “Gotta warm them up somehow.”

Babe snorts, but presses back because really, Gene’s toes are fucking freezing and surely that can’t be healthy. He opens his mouth to speak but Gene’s putting his lips on the back of Babe’s neck and he can’t remember what he was going to say. 

It really doesn't seem to matter anymore. 

All that matters now is the man he’s got his arms around, and the silky skin he runs his hands across after he’s pulled Gene’s clothes off. It’s those lips and those hands that tear his shirt and shorts off and the way he opens himself to Babe when Babe slithers between his legs. There’s no hesitation, only a sense of urgency as they line their cocks up and Babe’s got his hand wrapped around Gene’s and they’re pulling together, gasping quietly. There are soft, silky words whispered against Babe’s lips and Babe wants so much to bottle this moment up so he can remember every detail. 

“God, Gene,” Babe whispers, staring down at pale skin and dark eyes, and that thing that likes to grow in his chest is there again, spreading like fucking wildfire and the words “You’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful” are out of his mouth before he realizes he was thinking them. 

He’s startled by what he’s just said, but realizes it’s the truth as Gene’s eyes widen just the tiniest bit before he pushes his hips up, continuing this slow, kind of wonderful torture to Babe’s dick. 

It’s when they’re about to come, muscles tight and breaths coming in short gasps that Gene whispers _“Je te aime,_ Babe” and though he’s got no idea what Gene’s just said, he knows it means something judging by the emotion behind it. 

Feelings say it all. 

\--------------------------------------------------

Babe stares down at Gene as he sleeps, lost in thought. 

Thoughts like what the hell he’s doing, and what’s going to happen after. Thoughts of living a life where there is no Eugene Roe and he finds that to be a frightening idea. And even weirder is how frightening _that_ thought is. 

He leans down and places a kiss on Gene’s lips, watching as Gene stirs and sleepily kisses him back. 

“Go to sleep, Babe,” he murmurs, pulling him closer. 

Babe’s all too happy to follow orders this time, and he presses his face against Gene’s back, trying not to think about what might happen, and just concentrate on what’s happening right now.


	10. Chapter 10

Babe thinks he’s fallen in love with Austria. It’s the mountains and the clean air and the lake and the fact he hasn't really had to do anything war related in a few weeks.

The war in Europe is over, yet the threat of being sent to the Pacific hangs over all of them. He can’t imagine going through another war, he really can’t. Especially since he can’t call the Pacific a “gentleman’s war” – he found out the other day that medics carry guns over there, and the Japs like to target them.

The thought makes him want to throw up.

Neither Babe nor Gene have enough points to go home, so they’re just waiting now, waiting to see if the war will end, or if they’ll begin anew. Babe just wants to go home, but even the thought of home leaves him feeling uneasy.

Home is where his family is, where his life used to be, but home is not where Eugene Roe is.

And after spending almost every night since Berchtesgaden with Gene in bed beside him, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to fall asleep alone anymore.

It’s like an addiction, he decides one afternoon, watching Gene poke around the house they've decided to explore, and he leans against the door jam, smoking cigarette after cigarette. After everything that man has given him, he finds himself wanting more. He wonders if everything had gone a positive route and they found themselves together after the war, if it would be enough. It’d be close, he decides.

“Hey,” Gene says from the opposite side of the room where’s he been leafing through a catalog he found on the bedside table. “You ok?”

Babe grins, and shifts away from the door, staring at a picture of pure beauty. “What if I told you I wasn't?” he asks, only half teasing.

Gene’s staring at him with a curious expression and Babe cringes. Not the best thing he could said.

Babe watches as Gene drops the catalog and moves closer, not stopping until they’re inches apart and Gene’s trailing a finger down his chest.

“I’d tell you to stop thinkin’ so much.” Gene’s voice is low and Babe finds that he can’t look away. “Then I’d have to get you out of your clothes and inspect you all over. Might be some wound you didn't tell me about.”

Babe snorts, but doesn't argue because Gene’s right. “You kind of make me want to not be ok.”

Smirking, Gene gently slaps the side of Babe’s head before backing away and continuing his slow meandering wander around the room. He stops at a desk that’s sitting against the far wall, opens a drawer and pulls out a bottle of some kind of dark liquid that Babe’s sure is alcohol.

“Ah,” he says, finally stepping into the bedroom, “that’s a sight for sore eyes.”

“Really?” Gene says, eyebrows raised. “Pretty sure you were drunk last night.”

Babe takes the bottle, screwing off the lid before raising it to his nose. “Tipsy, not drunk. And this smells good.”

Playfully, Gene snatches the bottle back and takes a long drink, his body shuddering as he swallows. Babe chuckles. “Too much?”

“Not for you, I’m sure.” 

Babe takes the bottle from Gene and raises it to his mouth, his eyes never leaving the other man’s as he swallows what he now knows is whiskey. It stings and burns as it travels down to his stomach, and he grins at Gene as he takes another drink. 

“Here,” he says, holding the bottle out. “Gotta keep up with me.”

Laughing softly, Gene drinks from the bottle, the shudder not as noticeable this time. Babe’s not quite sure what he’s doing, but it doesn't really matter because they’re alone and there’s a bottle of pretty fine whiskey for them to share. 

Babe reaches out to take Gene’s hand and leads him to the bed. They sit on the edge, so close it’s hard to tell where Babe ends and Eugene begins, and there’s this longing that’s consuming Babe as they pass the bottle back and forth. He can’t put words to the feeling, other than he’d give anything to spend the rest of forever staring into those dark eyes. 

“What’s Louisiana like?” Babe asks impulsively. He imagines it to be a mysterious, other-worldly place, because that’s what Gene is to him. 

Tossing Babe a smile, Gene lights a cigarette and leans back against the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “It’s hot. Muggy. Green everywhere you look.” He drinks from the bottle before passing it over to Babe. “What’s Philadelphia like?”

For a second Babe’s lost in thought as he thinks back to his childhood, his teenage years, and how he never expected to end up where he is now. “I dunno. It’s hot in the summer, fucking freezing in the winter. Lots of sidewalks. And taxis.” Babe reaches over and takes Gene cigarette, sucking deeply. “My ma’s got a nice flower bed in the front yard.”

“My mother had a garden too,” Gene says softly. He takes another drink before passing the bottle off to Babe. “Lotta herbs.”

“For eating?”

“Some. Mostly medicinal purposes though. When you live out in the bayou like we do, ain’t many doctors around. Take care of a lot yourself.”

It’s a strange thought for Babe. His family had a doctor who came to the house whenever Babe or his brothers got sick and he doubted his ma would've been able to cure any sickness without the gray haired man and his black bag. 

Babe lays back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, already feeling the effects from the whiskey. His head is swimming, and he reaches a hand out in search of Gene, looking for something to ground him. Gene catches his hand and entwines their fingers together, resting them on his chest. 

“Think you’ll get into medicine and shit when you get back?” Babe asks, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. 

“Nah,” Gene says with a soft laugh. “Didn't graduate. And besides, I’m tired of playin’ doctor all the time.”

Babe wishes he could understand what Gene means. He does, to a certain extent, but really, he can’t imagine what the war’s been like for Eugene. “I didn't graduate either. Left when I was sixteen to work the docks.”

“Will you go back to that?” The question is asked so calmly and Babe spends a second wondering if it’s too calm, like there’s an undercurrent of something running underneath. Like his answer might matter.

“I dunno,” he says slowly. “Haven’t really thought about the future much.”

Gene sits up on the bed with his arms resting on his knees, and Babe would swear the muscles under his shirt are tense and rippling. Babe reaches out and places his hand on that shirt, gets to feel the tense muscles and he presses harder. 

“Gene?”

So fast Babe almost misses it, Gene’s on his feet and at the door, turning the lock with sure fingers before turning back around to stare at Babe, looking tall and imposing despite his slight build. His eyes are blazing and Babe pulls in a deep breath, a little scared of this dark, but still beautiful man.

He’s only seen Gene’s temper really come out once before, the night Moose got shot, and he’d been far enough away to not really feel the anger. And it hadn't been directed at him, not like it is right now, and he finds himself scooting further back on the bed just a tiny bit. 

“Gene… wha-” is as far as he makes it before Gene’s on top of him, pushing him down on the bed and climbing up his body. He’s attacking Babe with his lips and his hands and Babe’s pretty sure Gene pops a button or two on his shirt as he pulls it off. But he’s got no time to care because the dominance of the man on top of him is quite literally making him lose his mind. 

He tries to push Gene away because he wants to ask what’s wrong even though he’s pretty sure he knows. He knows in the way Gene’s kissing him and the way his hands are everywhere – every moment is dripping with anger and sadness and a little more anger and Babe decides he’s pretty pissed at the situation too. 

It’s not fucking fair.

So Babe pushes back. He’s biting at that familiar neck and odd little almost-sobs are leaving his mouth while Gene’s fingers pull at his short hair. They’re fighting, both wanting to control this, and while Babe is so sure he’s going to win, Gene is showing a surprising amount of strength as he pins Babe’s forearms to the bed and grinds mercilessly against him. 

There’s no sound in the room other than the noises coming from the two men tangled together on the bed. Gasping, grunting and murmured pleas for more, more, more and somehow Babe finds himself behind Gene, who’s on all fours and pushing back against him. Babe’s not sure what he’s doing, or how this really works, and at the same time he can’t believe this is happening. 

Gene’s groaning as Babe slowly pushes inside. A hand lifts to grasp the iron railing at the top of the bed, knuckles white and Babe almost comes right then because it’s _so fucking tight._

Time has stopped as Babe thrusts slowly into Gene, and Gene moans and pulls at his own cock. Babe’s whispering incoherent words against Gene’s back and he reaches out to cover the hand that’s holding on so tightly to the railing. 

It feels like the end, even though Babe knows it’s not. He can’t believe that there really is going to be an ending, not when he’s so deep inside Gene and they’re so close and fuck – 

“I love you, Gene.” He hears the words coming out of his mouth and realizes that he’s never said those words with such conviction before, never really meant it until now, now when he’s got the only person he might ever love in his arms. “I love you so much,” he whispers, his voiced laced with emotion.

Gene doesn't say it back but it’s ok because Babe had to say it, couldn't hold it back anymore. He’s fucking Gene deeper and faster and Gene’s pushing back against him, and it’s coming so fast Babe knows he’d never be able to stop it. He’s shuddering, his hips moving erratically as he fills Gene, and Gene keeps murmuring Babe’s name as he spills out onto the bed beneath them, clenching and unclenching around Babe’s cock. 

Afterwards, once Gene lets go of the railing and Babe pulls out carefully and they’re lying on their sides looking at each other in the darkening room, Babe remembers what he said and he almost wants to say it again, not in the hopes that Gene will say it back but because he likes to say it.

Gene reaches out and pushes Babe’s hair off his forehead before laying his arm along Babe’s waist and pulling him closer. His lips brush against Babe’s and the words are spoken so softly, all the anger of the previous few minutes gone. 

“I love you, too, Babe.”

\--------------------------------------------------

It’s September and the leaves are changing. There’s a crispness in the air that wasn't there a week ago, and Babe tugs his jacket on while he waits to get on the train that’s going to take them back to France. There they’ll take a boat back to England, and then they’ll take a boat back home, but that’s still many weeks away. 

He’s never been more grateful to know he has a little more time.


	11. Chapter 11

Gene takes the train to Philly with him – it’s on the way after all. 

Amidst thoughts of how fucking wonderful it is to be on American soil again, he’s wishing time could just slow down. One second they’re waiting in line, casting somewhat nervous glances at each other, and the next they’re a half hour from home. 

They get off at Penn Station, and now there’s only five minutes left, and Babe has no idea what to say. Gene’s staring at him with a set look in his eyes while Babe tries to ignore the hundreds of soldiers around them. 

“You got my number?” Gene asks, his voice just a little bit strained.

Babe pats his front pocket. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” he says. He closes his eyes when the whistle rings for the train because dear God why isn’t it fucking slowing down?! 

Hands are on his biceps and when he finally looks, Gene’s close enough that their foreheads are touching and for a very brief moment Babe wonders if Gene’s actually going to kiss him, and he does, just not in the way Babe was picturing. 

His lips press quickly against Babe’s forehead and he gives him with a look Babe’s seen a hundred times since that barn in Holland, and Babe smiles. 

“I’ll see you around,” Gene says, and it’s said with such conviction that Babe almost believes him. 

“Bye, Eugene.” His words catch in his throat and he watches through the crowd as Gene goes back to the train. He stops and turns just before he gets on and the smile he flashes Babe is beautiful and one Babe’s sure he’ll never forget. 

Babe watches until the train’s gone, lost in a fog of disbelief that he’s just let Gene go.

\--------------------------------------------------

He tries. He really does. It’s wonderful to be home and to sleep in his own bed, be woken up by the smells of his ma’s cooking – it’s this and so many other things he took for granted before the war. Seeing his neighbors and his grandma, having a daily routine that doesn’t involve shooting anyone; life has picked up where he left it over two years ago. 

And everything should be fine. It should be great, really, but he brings a few things home with him from the war.

Nightmares. That damned jiggling leg. And Gene. It’s always Gene.

One evening after dinner, while Babe’s smoking a cigarette and trying to relax, his ma remarks that he’s quieter than he used to be. Babe grunts and leans his head against the back of the sofa. 

He can’t tell her why he’s so quiet because she’d never understand. He can’t say to her, “I’m quiet because I fell in love with another man, Ma, and now he’s gone and as glad as I am to be home, I’m not happy.”

It’s March before he cracks. There’s still snow on the ground, and he makes his way through the drifts on his morning run, thinking of dark eyes and sure, capable hands and he finds himself running faster, wanting to get home so he can … he’s not sure what.

The house is quiet when he gets back – his pop’s already left for work and his ma is out shopping. He eyes the phone sitting in the hallway and his legs starts jiggling as he pulls out the scrap of paper with a phone number on it that he’s been carrying around since he watched Gene get on that train. It’s ragged, the ink fading, but he’s memorized the number anyway.

He wants to call, wants to hear that voice and that laugh and Jesus fucking Christ, he can’t deal with this. Without really thinking about what he’s doing or what he might even say, he dials the numbers and waits, still as a statue, and it rings and rings and rings. After the twentieth time or so, he hangs up.

Fuck.

Feeling like all the life’s been sucked out of him, he slowly makes his way to his room where he sits on the bed, blinking back tears. He hasn’t cried in a long time, not since Julian died anyway, and his chest hurts from keeping it all inside.

Fuck.

\--------------------------------------------------

The train ride takes forever. 

It gives Babe too much time to think about where’s he going and the fact he doesn’t have a plan or any idea of what he might say. He’s also feeling slightly guilty for not telling his parents anything, other than a note saying he was going to visit a friend and that he’d call in a few days. 

The guilt and the worry and the excitement means his leg doesn’t stop jiggling the entire way. 

Bayou Chene is just a tiny little town, barely a blip on the map, and as Babe steps off the train, his bag heavy in his hand, he realizes for the first time that a bit of forewarning might have been a good idea. He’s got no idea where Gene lives.

He starts walking down the sidewalk, looking for a restaurant or hotel or something that could tell him where he should go, and it’s then that he notices the old man that’s watching him from the porch of a house across the street. He’s smiling at Babe, and when he beckons for him to come closer, Babe does it without thought. 

“Mornin’, stranger,” the man says as Babe stops on the sidewalk. “Ya look like you could use some help.”

Babe laughs, wondering what gave it away. “I reckon I could use a little help. Thank you, sir.”

“Aye, listen to that voice,” the man says, cackling loudly. “Knew you were from up North. That hair.”

“No redheads in Louisiana?” Babe asks.

The man laughs again, and Babe feels a smile stretching across his lips for the first time in a real long time. 

“Where you headed, young man?” 

Babe drops his head, butterflies taking over his stomach. “I’m looking for Eugene Roe. I’m … we were in the army together.”

The man’s eyes start sparkling, or at least Babe would swear they were, and he grins. “Ed Roe’s son, huh? Yeah, I know exactly where Genie lives. Moved out, did ya hear? Built a house further in the bayou.”

“I didn’t know,” Babe says, feeling somewhat relieved that he won’t be showing up unannounced at Gene’s parent’s house. “Is it close?”

“See that road?” He points to the road that leads out of town. “Follow that for about a mile. You’ll pass a small house with yella shutters – that’s Genie’s parents. Genie lives further down – big ol’ white house with one ‘a those front porches, huh?”

Considering there are a million different types of front porches, but deciding it’s better to just agree, Babe nods his head. “Yeah, yeah. Big white house. With a porch.”

“Yep, that’s Genie’s place. Tell him I sent ya, young man.”

“I will, Mr…”

The man reaches out and pumps Babe’s hand with a vigor surprising for a man his age, while Babe tries not to wince. “Tell him Jack sent ya.”

“I will. Thank you, sir. Very much.”

Jack watches as Babe heads down the road, and just before Babe turns a corner that takes him deeper into the swamp, he turns back around and waves.

The road is quiet, a few houses spotted here and there through the thick foliage. After taking his coat off because Jesus H. Christ the fucking heat, Babe finds himself walking past a house with yellow shutters, and he slows down. It’s small, neat, with curtains fluttering in the windows and flowers all around the house. Babe tries to picture Gene here, his Eugene, and he’s heartened to realize he can.

It all comes flooding back as Babe walks past that pretty little house – the easy smile Gene would give him when no one was looking, the way he’d sometimes hum as they lay in bed together, the vibrations tickling the back of Babe’s neck. That upward lilt in his words, the way his eyes would soften when Babe walked into a room – the tightness in Babe’s chest is almost unbearable, and he struggles to pull in a deep breath. 

He’s close now. He can almost feel Eugene in the air, and as he rounds a corner, a two-story white house looms up ahead and for the first time since stepping off the train, Babe’s steps falter. 

Christ. After all this time, after all this fucking time - he’s here. 

Stepping up onto the porch, Babe can hear a radio playing somewhere inside the house and his mouth goes dry because that means Gene is home, and in no more than a minute he’s going to be there, right fucking there in front of Babe. It doesn’t seem real.

He stares at the door, licking his lips and trying to quiet the butterflies in his stomach. For a crazy second he almost convinces himself to back away and leave because what if Gene’s changed, what if he hasn’t missed Babe as much as Babe’s missed him – fuck, what if he’s gotten married? What if he doesn’t smile at Babe when he comes to the door, looks at him with horror instead of a happy sort of shocked expression? 

A phone ringing deep inside the house stops his chaotic thoughts. Seconds later he hears a low, murmured, “Hello?”, and his stomach flips because it’s Gene’s voice. 

He thinks there’s a good chance his legs are going to give out. 

Gene is still talking but Babe can’t make out the words, and he steps off the porch and lights a cigarette, not wanting to interrupt Gene’s phone call. And, if he’s being honest with himself, he needs a minute or two to get his shit together. 

He almost misses the sound of the front door opening as he stares at green trees and green moss and brown, murkey water but it’s the footsteps walking across the porch that finally makes him turn around, his nervousness gone. 

“Jesus Christ, it is you,” Gene says, stopping at the edge of the porch, his dark eyes wide and his lips stretched into a smile. His voice is the same, though there’s an edge of disbelief hugging his words and Babe takes a step closer, his feet acting on their own accord. 

“Hey, Eugene,” Babe says softly, unable to stop looking at the other man. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, the first Babe’s seen him in anything other than Army regulation clothing, and God, he looks good. Too good. Babe licks his lips again, feeling helpless because Gene really does take his breath away. 

He wants to say something like, “Long time,” or “Sorry I didn’t phone ahead,” but when he opens his mouth it’s to say “I missed you, Gene,” and he can’t even feel the slightest bit embarrassed about it because it’s true. 

A breeze slowly meanders it’s way past the two men, brushing Babe’s hair off his forehead and ruffling Gene’s shirt. The world comes into focus so brightly and it feels like a thousand years go by in those few seconds it takes for Gene to come down the stairs and wrap himself around Babe with hands and arms that tremble.

They clutch at one another, Gene’s breath harsh against Babe’s neck and – God, it feels so good, he’s almost delirious. Scrambled words are leaving his mouth, murmured into Gene’s shoulder and Gene whispers, “I can’t believe you’re here,” in a voice several octaves lower than normal. 

“I’m sorry, Gene,” Babe whispers, holding him tighter. “God, I’m sorry.”

He’s not quite sure what he’s apologizing for – for waiting this long, or maybe the fact that he let Gene go in the first place. But there’s no time to ponder because Gene’s kissing him in the middle of the front yard and Babe officially loses his mind. It’s gone, like it’d never been there, and it’s all about Eugene now.

Hands are clutching and lips are moving and when Babe changes his stance, moving so that one leg is nestled between both of Gene’s, he watches as Gene’s eyelids flutter.

“Gene,” he whispers, trailing his lips down Gene’s neck and sucking at his collarbone, losing himself in the familiar taste of the man’s skin.

Gene’s got his hands on Babe’s back and with a strength Babe doesn’t expect, Gene hauls him closer, fingers digging into the small of Babe’s back.

“Gene,” Babe murmurs, not wanting to stop but knowing they can’t do this out in the open, “Gene, should-”

With a growl Babe’s never heard before but which sends shivers up and down his body, Gene pulls back and takes Babe’s hand, pulling him up the steps and into the house. Babe’s reeling, not really able to think correctly because fuck, it’s just so intense and it’s everything he’s been thinking about for the past six months.

As soon as the door is closed, Gene pushes him up against it and he’s whispering things like, “Babe,” and _“Ma douce”_ and “I can’t believe you’re here.” Fingers tremble as shirts and pants are unbuttoned and when Gene cups Babe’s cheeks, his eyes dark and full of want, Babe’s world goes out of focus because goddamn, it’s been so long.

They make their way into another room with a fireplace and a carpet and Babe pushes Gene down, wanting nothing more than to crawl up his body but Gene takes him into his mouth and sucks hard.

An almost hysterical sound leaves Babe’s mouth as warm lips enclose him, and his fingers make their way into Gene’s hair, pulling at it. He can’t believe this is happening, he really can’t – it’s like a dream he never wants to wake from.

His muscles tighten and he groans. “Gene, stop,” he whines, pulling at that black, black hair because he doesn’t want to come this way, doesn’t want it to end yet.

Gene pulls back and looks up at Babe with red lips and flushed cheeks and he’s fucking beautiful. It makes Babe’s heart hurt to look at him after being apart for so long. Babe reaches out to run his fingers down Gene’s cheek, feeling warmth and rasping stubble, and as his finger nears Gene’s lips, Gene turns his head and pulls the finger into his mouth, biting down softly. 

“Fuck,” Babe whispers. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, and all he wants is what’s right in front of him, looking up at him with hazy eyes. 

The floor creaks beneath them as they rut against each other on the floor, cocks sliding together and lips fucking everywhere. Babe can’t stop kissing that pale skin, sucking until he’s marked Gene as his own. He’s thrusting, meeting Gene’s hips and it starts, all the pent up sadness and grief and confusion he’s been holding in since he watched Gene walk away - it comes out with every breath, every moan.

“Babe… Christ, don’t stop.” One hand is clutching at Babe’s hair, the other pressing against the small of Babe’s back and he’s making these whimpering sounds that tug at Babe’s stomach in a way he can’t explain.

“I won’t, Gene,” Babe gasps as his toes curl and his mind is blown into a thousand pieces. Gene’s coming apart below him and it’s the craziest moment of Babe’s life. 

Afterwards, still tangled together with the radio playing softly in the background, Gene leans forward and kisses Babe gently, almost shyly. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Gene says, his voice quiet and just a little bit hesitant.

Babe smiles, the anxiousness having melted away for the moment, and he presses his lips to Gene’s before whispering, “Me too.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Y’know you've said that about five times in the last hour,” Babe says with a smirk.

They’re in the kitchen and Gene’s making eggs and bacon. The smell of coffee hangs heavy in the air, and Babe’s stomach growls.

“Guess I can’t quite get over the shock of seeing you sitting at my kitchen table,” Gene says, throwing a quick smile over his shoulder as he scrambles the eggs.

Babe blushes and takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m having trouble believing I’m here, too. The whole way down I kept thinking how crazy this was.”

The bacon sizzles and Gene turns his back on it, leaning against the stove with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. “I thought you would’ve called instead of coming all the way down here.”

It doesn't take much for Babe’s leg to start jiggling, and when it starts, he reaches out for the pack of cigarettes that’s sitting on the table. He lights one and pulls in the familiar hot-tasting smoke, thinking about what he wants to say.

“I tried to call, a few days ago,” he explains, not meeting Gene’s eyes. “Guess I was calling your parent’s house, but no one answered.”

“They’re visiting my Grand’Mere,” Gene explains. 

“Well, that explains that, I guess.”

Footsteps are headed his way and Babe lifts his head, watching with butterflies in his stomach as Gene reaches out to place a hand on his leg, the up and down movement finally stopping. He stares at Babe with a knowing look in his eyes. “Still doing that, huh?”

Babe flushes and takes a drag of his cigarette. “Some thing’s never change.”

Gene takes the cigarette from Babe’s fingers and smiles softly as he sucks deeply before handing it back and returning to the stove. “Started thinking I wasn’t going to see you again,” he says after a moment, his back to Babe as he dishes out the eggs and bacon. 

Babe’s not sure what to say – he wanted to give Gene space, maybe? Didn’t want to back him into a corner by showing up a week after they’d parted? 

There’s a million reasons, really. 

“I’m sorry, Gene,” he whispers, wishing he’d been stronger. He could’ve stopped Gene from getting on that train, or fuck, he could have never gotten off till they reached Louisiana. 

“Stop apologizing,” Gene says, his voice strained. “Stop. I could’ve called you, too.”

“I didn’t give you a number,” Babe counters. 

“Could’ve found it.”

“Fuck, Gene,” Babe says, running his hands through his hair, slightly exasperated and feeling enormously guilty, “I dunno why I didn’t call. Or why you didn’t call. It’s been a weird couple of months and … I’m here now. Yeah?”

Gene turns and looks at Babe for a long second, eyes filled with an indescribable emotion that makes Babe lightheaded. “Yeah. You’re here now, Edward.”

Really? Edward? Babe rolls his eyes. “Not even the nuns-”

“Call you Edward, yeah yeah,” Gene says with a smile, setting a plate down in front of Babe before lightly smacking him on the side of the head. “Eat, Heffron.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Before nightfall, Babe learns that it was Jack whom Gene had been speaking too on the phone, told him a red-headed Yankee was headed his way – it seems he was worried Babe might get lost. 

He learns too, that Gene is a pretty good cook despite all the weird spices he dumps into the food with careless abandon. 

Louisiana is hot and sticky, just like Gene had said all those months ago. During the afternoon while they sit on the front porch smoking cigarettes, sweat dripping down their faces, Babe remembers those cold days in Belgium when they’d huddled together for warmth and it feels like it happened a hundred years ago. 

Gene tells him about his job building houses and Babe knows those hands are well suited for that kind of work. He’d never tell him, but Babe had worried that Gene would change his mind and get into medicine after all, maybe forgetting how much he hated it towards the end now that he’s home.

That night after they’ve drank a few beers and smoked about a hundred cigarettes, the air still hot and heavy, Babe takes Gene’s hand and holds on tightly. The porch swing sways gently beneath them and Babe takes a second to just soak it all in.

It gets even better a few minutes later when Gene stands at the edge of the porch, leaning against the railing and Babe moves up behind him, pressing against his back. He’s missed this body, this dark thick hair and the soft humming noise Gene’s making. 

He feels like he can finally breathe again. 

\--------------------------------------------------

The room is quiet except for the gasping coming from the bed, where the two men are tangled together, this moment their entire world. 

Gene’s legs are tight around Babe’s hips, and Babe’s got his mouth pressed against Gene’s neck, wondering if it’s possible to die from too much pleasure. There’s a hand with slender fingers pulling at Babe’s hair and it’s just so goddamn _tight._

Reality’s gone as Babe thrusts into Eugene, pressing him deeper into the bed. He’s panting, so incredibly turned on by the way the other man’s meeting his thrusts and whimpering and he falls over the edge, taking Gene with him. 

“What happens now?” Gene asks later when they’re lying on their sides staring at one another, sated and drowsy.

“I dunno,” Babe replies. “Sleep, then breakfast. And lunch and dinner. About a thousand more times.”

“A thousand, huh?” Gene says, his eyes soft and warm. 

Babe pushes Gene onto his back and tucks his head onto his shoulder. “In the end it must just be enough.”

Gene stills underneath him for a moment, before pressing a kiss to the top of Babe’s head. _“Je te aime.”_

Babe smiles against a warm shoulder, certain in the fact that no matter what, Eugene will always be there. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kudos and comments and all-around love for this little story. You guys are amazing.


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